


Spilt Milk

by Serenhawk



Series: The Cockles Digest [4]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Cockles, Fluff, Headcanon, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Misha POV, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 09:31:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2062959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenhawk/pseuds/Serenhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ComicCon weekend for Misha was a whirlwind of conquests, from start to surprise ending.</p><p>Post-NerdHQ 2014 timestamp</p><p>This is a work of fiction. No disrespect intended to those whose names are used. I'M SO SORRY.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spilt Milk

**Author's Note:**

> This is a (very strange) ode to the awesome omnipresence that was Misha at ComicCon. It was supposed to be impromptu PG loved-up-Jensen fluff with a side of therapy for my Jared face-palming headache.  
> I don’t know what happened but I blame the Glitter Peen Brigade for the last part.
> 
> A big toppy-bottom thanks to Aquielle and ProxyOne for being my Cockles sounding-boards.  
> (Danneel does not appear but features enough that I added her as a character)

 

***************

 

‘Tap-tap’. 

The soft alert at the door saved him from the fall into sleep, which was probably advantageous. He had roughly an hour to kill before going to the airport, at least fifty minutes of which he intended to spend lying down despite not yet bothering to remove his shoes. He couldn't, however, afford to crash out.

“Mmmph,” he responded, mostly to the pillow. Misha wasn’t in the mood to be either coherent or sociable, having done nothing but talking for the last thirty-six hours. He was coming down off the weekend high and some sub-par alcohol he'd either had too much or no-where near enough of, and was suddenly left feeling deflated and irritable.

Three rather more insistent knocks sounded and he unfolded off the bed. “Okay, okay, coming,” he conceded.

He opened the door to find the person he’d anticipated it would be, and coincidentally the only one he'd be currently hospitable towards.

“Hey,” was the downright sultry greeting from his friend who leaned casually against the door frame, tanned arms folded and one ankle lazily tucked over the other.

Misha stepped back as he held the door open, managing a bow that began theatrically but ended more of an apathetic slouch.

“Do you put on that show for everyone whose hotel doors you knock on, or am I uniquely fortunate?” he asked as Jensen pushed his weight off and wandered into the room.

“What show?” he quizzed, eyebrows pulling together with a hint of disdain.

“The—“ Misha glided his palm in a vague gesture to indicate his friend’s general vicinity. “Nevermind,” he concluded, absently cursing the ‘Jensen effect’ as he let the door latch.

He turned towards his visitor. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“You okay?” Jensen countered bluntly.

“Not really,” he confessed, grumbling.

“What’s up?”

He paused, not entirely sure what bothered him the most. “Ahh, it doesn’t matter, I just... need to get out of here,” he dismissed eventually, shoving his fingers in his rear pockets and stretching his neck.

“You’re... irritated,” his friend pushed gently.

Hmmm.” Misha shrugged obliquely, hoping Jensen would let it go. He didn’t want to exacerbate the discontented itch nagging at him. It had, by and large, been a giddy weekend. It was always going to be absurdly hectic but this time he’d actually enjoyed (almost) every minute of it, until the last hour or so.

“So, cleanse your palate. I’m here to listen, and, you know, help,” Jensen said matter-of-factly with a half-smile. He followed it up with a light touch to his bicep that was oddly… platonic.

Misha tightened his eyes, unsure of his friend’s motivation. “Help, huh?” he asked dubiously.

Jensen returned his shrug. “I saw that look in your eye back there, and I know you don’t want to put me in the middle of anything—“ His friend trailed off, eyeing him cautiously. Misha just nodded briefly before dropping his gaze. “But, you know, we have to go back to work tomorrow, so best to purge now, don’t you think? Instead of packing any baggage.”

If there was one thing you could say about Jensen, when it came to friendship affirmative diplomacy was his forte. That, and he could read Misha annoyingly well - okay that was two things, which was economical considering at any given moment he could say a hundred things about his… his _other_ significant other.

His friend took a step closer and rested a hand on his shoulder, giving it a tentative squeeze before cocking his head and appraising him with a soft look. One swipe of a thumb against his neck was all it took to release the rigid set of his shoulders he wasn’t aware he’d assumed. He let out a groan.

“I’m just, I don’t know… _over it_ today. I love him, I really do, but he’s been Mr fucking Padapaininmyass all day, and – “ He growled and pressed his lips together, reconsidering. “It’s a matter of context, I think,” he continued more evenly. “Audience matters.”

He wasn’t in for elaborating to Jensen just how he could foresee some of the things said during the day were going to end up biting someone on the ass, probably him. They don’t talk about their audience and the various antagonisms that came along with it (and within it) apart from the couple of times when he’d felt compelled to broach an issue. But like it or not (and he did like it) their professional lives existed in an environment where idolatry was misleading and their opinions and conduct were judged, both fairly and not. They all were keenly aware of the fact, but being proprietarily observed on a constant basis meant, mainly to avoid exhaustion, it was easy to become blase about it. Not that he’d ever become so.  

And then there was the personal sledging which had, for the most part, never bothered him; he participated blithely, if not always proudly. But inadvertently causing offense did trouble him, and the cumulative effect of recent instances was beginning to wear thin.

Jensen turned and backed up to the rear of one of the ubiquitous hotel tub chairs, perching on the crest. “You were needling each other pretty well up there, in public,” his friend pointed out with an arched brow.

“Yeah well, habit. And defence” he smiled weakly. “But, I--  not everything’s a joke. There’s releasing your inner child and then there’s just being one, for fuck’s sake.”

Jensen pursed his lips and gave him a considered nod. “Harsh,” he added with a light frown.

“Probably, but—I’ve just been getting this _vibe_ from him lately. It’s… it’s a little uncomfortable. I don’t know.’ He looked Jensen square in the eye, a small knot of despondency settling in his chest. “He jokes about us too.”

Jensen let out a derisive huff and folded his arms. “Not to me he doesn’t,” he said gruffly.

“Oh, great, it’s just me then, fucking… great.” He kicked a heel against the toe of his other shoe.  Now he felt like the fucking child. He wasn’t entirely sure why _that_ bugged him as much as anything.

“You know why though, right?” his friend said. Misha, eyes still on the floor, wasn’t aware Jensen had launched himself and approached until hands began to slide around his back. He wasn’t averse to being embraced but he stubbornly kept his hands pocketed.

“He respects you but he doesn’t really ‘get’ you. He never has – you’re still a conundrum,” Jensen added. “And he doesn’t get _this._ ” The arms around him squeezed for emphasis and he let his chin sink onto the waiting shoulder as his friend continued. “Intellectually maybe, but not _really_ ‘gets it’, or why.” Honestly, Misha would be pleasantly surprised if Jensen’s surrogate brother did get it. He'd never expected him to, he acknowledged with a sigh.

“I don’t need to be ‘got’,” he commented ruefully after a while.

“Good, ‘cause I’m fucked if I get you,” Jensen scoffed.  He moved a hand to brace Misha’s neck and began to mouth from his ear along his hairline.

“I might see you in all your wacky technicolor glory,” his friend mumbled into his temple, “and love you for everything you let me see behind here—“ Misha had lips pressed gently against each eyelid. He began to thaw; it was impossible not to, subjected to this kind of assault. “But don’t ever accuse me of understanding you.”

Jensen kissed his forehead lightly then pulled back, tapping the side of Misha’s head above his ear and prompting him to open his eyes. “Especially this,” his friend finished with a smile.

He yielded with a hum and slid his palms under Jensen’s shirt, tucking his thumbs under the waistband sitting on his hips. He indulged in a slight shake of his head, letting his attention drift grudgingly into green eyes. His friend held his gaze and trailed fingertips in lethargic patterns over his upper arms.

 _Fuck Jensen and his beguiling calm_.

“So what are you going to do?” his friend asked eventually.

“Me? He’s _your_ responsibility, you brought him along with you into this relationship,” he sulked melodramatically. “You sort him out.”

Jensen just chuckled and drew him back into a hug. “What are we, parents?” he asked.

“Feels like it sometimes,” Misha murmured into his shoulder.  “I don’t know,” he continued after a few beats. “Probably nothing. Let it go. It’s--  he’s just been rubbing me up the wrong way lately.”

Jensen smoothed his hands down his back and over his ass, pulling their lower halves together. “As opposed to me right, who rubs you the right way?”

Misha rolled his eyes. “Only in conjunction with the use of words like conundrum,” he qualified grudgingly.  His eyelids fluttered shut however as a palm sneaked between them to cup and roll the front of his pants. He rested in the lazy sensations for a minute, half aroused and half drowsy.

“Feeling better?” Jensen asked, somewhat huskily.

“Yes,” he lied. He would never give voice to his real speculation on what was behind the tone of their colleague's sometimes animus teasing of late. And he wasn’t going to cry over it.

Nor was he going to let Jensen charm and sex him out of a funk, just on principle. He was, though, happy to give the impression to Jensen that he _could;_  he’d be foolhardy not to ‘endure’ such attempts to bulldoze him.

“Hmm. You’re still quite tense, you know,” his friend accused. 

Misha was more than over the entire subject, and so terminated it. “Why are you here?” he asked genuinely, diverting the conversation. “Shouldn’t you be with your beautiful wife, while you can.”

Jensen pulled away slightly and met his eyes. “Well my beautiful wife thought I should come see my b--  you.”

Misha opened his mouth to prod Jensen into finishing that sentence as intended but was cut off with a swooping kiss.  He resisted at first, holding onto the last vestiges of his inner tantrum, but Jensen’s mouth steamrolled him, the bubble of tension evaporating under a sweep of tongue he couldn’t escape for the hand cupping the back of his head.

He let out a pitiful whine as they parted. “You don’t play fair,” he complained, swaying. “Asshole.”

Jensen smiled broadly at him before drawing him into another deep hug, and he let himself fully relax at last into being held.  All this _hugging_ and soon he was going to lose the ability to stand up on his own. And he felt greedy for beginning to revel in it.

“Seriously” he prodded. “Why did you come?”

“D told me to,” was the concise answer accompanied by fingertips caressing the back of his neck. He could quite happily go to sleep right here if Jensen wasn’t careful.

“Did she really?” he asked absently.

“Yes, her idea, she thought you were... off.”

“Huh. She’s a keeper,” he returned, dragging his nails up Jensen’s sides.

“Mmm,” was his friend’s only response.

He mused for a few moments. “You’re in a good mood.” It came out a little like an accusation.

Jensen let out a throaty hum and tucked his nose into Misha’s collar to start placing little licks from his collar-bone around the base of his neck.

Misha grunted and dug into his friend’s hips as a rough warning. This was going to get out of hand fast if that attention continued.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jensen returned, lifting his head. “The circus is over, you’re here, Dani’s down the hall—“

“Oh, so you like to have both of us accessible?” he charged.

He was treated to an arch smile. “It’s nice to have you both… within easy reach.” Jensen emphasized the assertion with a firm grip applied under Misha’s balls through his jeans. His protest was cut off with a short hard kiss that continued along his jaw after it left his mouth.

He really needed to head this off at the pass, but it wasn’t often that Jensen was this seductively carefree. It rather confirmed his suspicions about an expression he’d caught on Jensen’s face a few times recently, none more evident than last night when, along with several others, they’d been finishing a bottle in their room. Danneel had been tucked into his arm on the couch, and he’d caught Jensen’s eye across from them with a look full of such fond warmth he’d really wanted to reach across and pull him into both their laps, and plant one on him. If they’d been alone he very well may have, just to see what would happen.

Misha gently tried pushing his friend back. “I don’t think she quite meant this when she sent you here,” he said charitably. “And I’m not going to send you back to her smelling like sex. Besides, I’m hot, tired and need a shower, so go.” He tried to duck away but instead he found himself brusquely turned and reversed, an uncompromising tongue licking into his mouth.

His calves hit the bed and he sank ungracefully to sit next to his half-packed suitcase. Jensen sunk between his knees, flicking at his shirt to reach for his belt. “Jen,” he growled in reproach.

Dancing eyes flashed up at him. “Appearances can be deceiving, I’m going.”

“Really, because it looks more like one of us is going to be coming and I’m not sure that’s expedient,” he breathed, finding it difficult to remember why he was resisting. 

He’d barely gotten the words out before deft fingers had his belt and fly undone and were tugging at the elastic on his underwear, revealing the betrayal of his flushed head. He leaned back in defeat as Jensen’s mouth descended on him. He watched, breathing hard as his friend's tongue swirled before bestowing several reverential sucks.

“Christ Jen, you’re really gonna kiss your wife with that mouth?” he asked in bleary awe.

Jensen raised his head and looked at his watch. “Shit, actually I am.” He nimbly jumped to his feet. “And if I don’t leave now I might be moving in with you guys,” he added flippantly.

“What?” Misha said. His head was starting to spin, especially from all the implications in that last sentence. Jensen leaned over to place a perfunctory peck on his mouth that ended with a whispered “sorry."

Misha was speechless until Jensen reached the door. “Fuck you, Ackles” was all he could manage.

His friend turned issued grade-A smirk. “Later, baby,” he confirmed with a wink.

“And what am I supposed to do with a raging hard-on?” he whined. “I doubt this was the kind of ‘help’ Dani meant!”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Jensen answered evenly, wiggling his brows.

His friend went to turn the handle and Misha reached for the first thing to throw at him – auspiciously a balled pair of dirty socks. They thudded into the wall near his head. Jensen let go, spun on his heels and stalked back to him, marauding. His friend crawled on to the bed and crowded over him, forcing him to fall backwards.

“You’re going to go take that shower, and you are going to stroke yourself and make yourself come. And then you are going to text me to tell me how hard you came,” his friend demanded in a rumbling voice so low it’s echoes reached all the way to his dick. Shit.

He took a gulp. “What about you?” he asked, still sulking. He stretched to give the bulge in his friend’s jeans an unkindly sharp squeeze.

Jensen sucked in his bottom lip, eyes sparkling. “Well I have my wife and half an hour to spare, I’m good. But thanks for thinking of me.”

His friend gave him a tight grin and backed off. Misha didn’t know whether to laugh or rise and punch him. Jensen turned again and made for the door. “Remember, text,” he reiterated flatly, facing him one last time before he slipped out, the latch clicking dully behind him.

Misha lay there for a few moments, one hand futilely nursing his erection. “Motherfucker” he eventually snarled, luxuriating in every syllable.  It didn’t help alleviate anything.

He sat up and sifted briefly to locate a fresh change of clothes before he sauntered to the bathroom. He stripped roughly and stepped under the tepid spray, determined to rinse away the day’s various frustrations and sticky heat. When he looked down though, his cock glared at him.

He capitulated; grasping for the nearest bottle he shook out it's contents to create a lather, then wrapped his fingers around himself. His penis gave a pulse of approval.

Misha jacked himself slowly, going over the previous ten minutes in his head. He certainly appreciated the kinkiness of the situation even if he could have done without the, frankly, dishonorable stimulation at this stage of the afternoon.

He started to focus on the memory of certain sensations from more rewarding encounters; being encased in the heat of Jensen’s mouth, tongue laving over the ridges and hollowed cheeks creating just the right pressure. It was a beautiful sight, his cock disappearing into that mouth, and he looked down wishing the shower floor was occupied by his fortuitous lover. Well, any lover would be good right know he admitted ruefully - Jensen didn't deserve his preoccupation given the circumstances.

The shining head of his erection reared forth as he dragged his grip down, rivulets of water joining the moisture beading from the tiny fissure. He’d wondered more than once at how different this process must be for women, not being able to _see_ the evidence of their arousal, and whether that meant they were more attuned to each modest quickening, and fantasy. He liked to see every detail; skin flushing angry and urgent, length preening -  it was like a strange and primal conversation with oneself.

He tucked his other hand under his balls and caressed the skin there almost back to his anus, alternating with soft rolls of his testes under his fingertips while continuing to stroke in slow pulls right down into the trimmed hair at the base. It occurred to him he didn’t have a lot of time, which is exactly the wrong thing to think when you’re looking for your own release, but he increased the pace a little and leaned back against the wall, tipping his crown against the tile.

He flicked his wrist to introduce small twists. His breathing started to hitch – he was hard now, really hard, velvet skin slipping easily under his fingers. Reaching to turn up the heat slightly, the cool surface at behind his shoulders contrasted keenly with the warm wash spotlighting his genitals.

He sorted through a catalogue of images in his head as he flexed his hold and jacked faster. They always came back to Jensen, since he both started this and was so nearby. Disjointed flashes of lips and bites and being sunk deep, offerings and slick and tight dragging pressure, ejected strings of come and dirty-worded appeals keeping the rolling boil. The threads of climax began to cinch together deep in his pelvis.

Maybe it was the thwarting fact of having Jensen so near and yet so far, but even as he started to heatedly stroke and his lungs held onto their air he knew he was going to end up on a plateau. He needed something; to be guided, touched, observed… anything. His movements grew frantic and stuttering but it was like having a rubber band pulled tighter and tighter without being let go. Hips darting forward and buttocks clenching, he scoured raggedly for that minute spark that would launch him.

Misha panted and slowed to regroup, and swore into the moist air. ‘This would be a fuck-load more pleasant if we were in the same room Jensen’ he griped to himself, reaching an arm to brace himself on the wall to his side. His mind took him down the corridor… were they really going at it together right now? The cruelty of the thought had a curiously dual effect, at once injurious and stirring, hollow and sharp. He broke an unvoiced decree and visualized them; hazy non-specific images, fleeting and impersonal, but then of watching, _invited_.  A couple of short thrusts into his hand and he blushed cold.

Some orgasms are like being released into gently lapping waves in the sun, others more akin to standing next to the giant speaker at a concert, trapped inside pounding reverberation. This one was like stepping off a cliff and feeling nothing but air and tension, suspended in a vacuum for an interminable moment before crashing hard and violently below. A rasping noise was crushed in this throat and he sagged into the wall behind him, breath heaving.

He allowed himself a minute to re-balance, and reflect. Okay so _that_ isn’t on the agenda and probably never should be, not even as spank fodder, given the mostly unspoken limits and etiquette of their various friendships, but then he’s done a lot of things he ‘shouldn’t’. And _damn_. Although he was increasingly suspicious he alone was not at fault for bringing that particular brand of thoughts to the fore in his time of need.

He looked down, right hand still gripping softened flesh, and coated in the remains of his spill. ‘What a waste’ he thought, trying to cheer himself.

Stepping back under the stream he tried to restore his vigor from the sluggish afterglow. Not really knowing how much time he had left he made short work of finishing and was soon back in the room, hurriedly dried and dressed. He was packing the last stray items when his phone buzzed.

He’d completely forgotten Jensen’s command.

> **Did you do it?**

The _nerve._ He thumbed out a warning reply.

 _>_ **For what I want to call you there are not enough expletives at my disposal**

Misha sighed, hoping his friend would leave it alone. He felt like the world was askew.

> **Well u can get me back this week**

He barked a startled laugh. Had he been planning that all along?

 _>_ **You sneaky shit**

He did a quick sweep of the room, checking for stray belongings. His phone buzzed another alert.

 _>_ **D wants u 2 know she’s laughing**

This time he gaped and sank on the bed before replying somewhat candidly.

> **I don’t even know you people**

He zipped up his case, chuckling quietly in surprise. He should probably relate this to his wife - she would undoubtedly be amused. He wasn’t sure however that he wanted to, which puzzled him. This was all a bit unprecedented and… weird. Luckily he was very accommodating of weird.

Actually, he had to admit as he left the room, he had no fucking clue exactly _what_ had just happened.

But at least he had journeying the entire span of the west coast to plan retribution.

 

***FIN***

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Some Dom!Jensen snuck in there, where did he come from? or was it Danneel... IDEK  
> Misha, my profound apologies.


End file.
